Table Of Contentv1.0
June 2006
Uneasy Alliance
Jayne Ann Krentz
"I'm not leaving without the truth," Torr stated quietly.
"And if you don't happen to like the truth or believe it?" she retorted.
"Then I probably won't leave at all. At least, not without taking you with me."
Her mouth went dry. "Torr, you can't do this."
"Do what? All I'm asking for is an explanation."
"I've given you one! As well as an apology for breaking our date. What more do
you think you're entitled to, anyway? Torr, I don't owe you anything!"
"Are you in love with him?"
"In love with who?" she yelped furiously.
"The man in the photograph."
"No, I am not in love with Ward!" Abby shut her eyes in self-disgust as she
realized how much she'd been goaded into saying.
"Ward?"
"Never mind. Just leave, Torr. Please. I have to get out of here."
"I'd like a last name to pin on him," Torr remarked placidly, studying the photo.
"Well, you can wait until hell freezes over."
He glanced up, his gaze still and strangely frightening. "Don't you know," Torr
uttered very softly, "that the outer reaches of hell are already frozen? Hell is a
very cold place, Abby. Not a warm one. Cold and infinitely lonely."
contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ISBN 1-55166-958-7
UNEASY ALLIANCE
Copy right © 1984 by Jay ne Ann Krentz.
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ONE
^ »
It was during the third class in the art of Japanese flower arrangement that Torr
Latimer finally permitted himself to acknowledge exactly what it was about
Abby Lyndon's designs that stirred his curiosity. They made him wonder if she
would bring the same impulsive, warm abandon to a man's bed that she brought
to her floral creations.
More than that, he reflected wryly as he carefully added a thistle stalk to his own
spare design, Abby's arrangements made him wonder about other things too:
such as how she would look sitting across from him at the breakfast table the
morning after he had made love to her. His instincts told him she would appear
as charmingly cheerful and disarrayed as that design of ferns and jonquils she
had put together the week before.
He eyed the long honey-colored hair that was loosely arranged in a topknot. The
fact that she was wearing sleek black jeans and a black sweater vaguely amused
him. She had worn the black leather trench coat again this evening and the entire
outfit was reminiscent of military commando attire. But nothing Abby wore
could camouflage the bright, vividly impulsive woman beneath. He wondered
why she bothered to try.
Hell, he thought grimly. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman. But
that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that it seemed like forever
since he'd actually been thoroughly drawn in, mystified by a woman. When a
man was facing forty he had no excuse for not knowing the difference between a
passing attraction and something far more risky. Torr knew the difference.
And to think he'd signed up for these classes in flower arrangement because the
discipline and austerity of the Japanese way with flowers had appealed to his
controlled, severe way of dealing with life. It had been a philosophical whim to
take the course.
Who could have guessed that the most interesting aspect of the class would be
the least disciplined, least austere student in the room, he asked himself. Abby
Lyndon would never master the highly formal floral design if she repeated the
Lyndon would never master the highly formal floral design if she repeated the
four-week class all year long. It had first amused and then fascinated Torr to
watch Abby's chaotic, blithe arrangements grow and grow until there was
nothing of simplicity or moderation left. She was the despair of the instructor,
Mrs. Yamamoto, but Torr found himself enthralled and recklessly captivated.
Tonight he wanted to take Abby Lyndon home and do all sorts of intriguing,
foolhardy things. The realization made him strangely restless.
He eyed the exuberant design of Queen Anne's lace and daffodils taking shape
under her hands as she worked industriously at the table next to his. She had
exciting hands, Torr thought. Long, delicate fingers tipped with graceful, oval
nails that had been painted the color of carmine tulips.
He watched her add a daffodil at an unstudied angle and lifted an eyebrow in
silent surprise.
There was something different about the way she was creating her arrangement
tonight. Something too intent and almost desperate about the way she was
stuffing the flowers into the plastic holder. If he hadn't been watching her so
closely for the past few classes he might not have noticed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a daffodil stalk break as she stabbed it too
quickly into the plastic.
"Oh, nuts." The exclamation was a hiss of disgust as Abby tossed aside the
broken daffodil. Her brows drew together in a fierce frown as she contemplated
the unbalanced creation in front of her. She shot a surreptitious glance at the
beautifully simple design taking shape at the next table. Torr Latimer's materials
never accidentally snapped or broke under his careful, precise fingers. She
chewed her lip morosely as she studied his work.
He looked up as if he knew she were watching him and a cool, reserved smile
curved the corner of his rather grim mouth. Everything about Torr Latimer was a
bit grim, Abby decided abruptly. Perhaps that was what had been bothering her
about him for the past few weeks. There was a remote, reserved aura about him
that made her wary. It hinted at strength and willpower, she told herself. Not bad
qualities in a man. It was just that she was always going to be careful around
strong, self-willed men. She'd had enough of masculine resoluteness and
strong, self-willed men. She'd had enough of masculine resoluteness and
aggression to last her a lifetime.
"I have some more daffodils if you'd like a replacement," Torr murmured gently
in the dark, gravelly voice that always made her think of a riverbed.
"You always seem to have extra materials and I never have enough,"
Abby observed regretfully. "Mrs. Yamamoto says I still haven't learned
restraint." She surveyed the conglomeration of daffodils and Queen Anne's lace
in front of her gloomily. "It's just that my arrangements always seem to run out
of control."
"They have a charm all their own."
Abby smiled in quick gratitude before frowning once more at her flowers.
"That's very kind of you, but it should be obvious by now that I don't seem to be
getting the hang of this particular style of floral design.
You're a natural at it, though. How can you resist the temptation to add more and
more materials?"
Torr shrugged, his eyes on the elegantly simple and vital design he had created.
"Perhaps I'm just not as naturally adventurous as you are. Do you want another
daffodil?" He picked one up from the small pile of floral materials on his table
and extended it to her.
Abby looked at the flower lying across his palm and experienced an unexpected
wave of curiosity and uneasiness. The hand that held the flower was a strong
square one, capable of crushing far more than a daffodil. But the flower
appeared quite at home and protected by the blunt fingers. Why did she hesitate
to take it from him?
Annoyed with herself for the odd reluctance, Abby reached out quickly and
snapped the small gift from Torr. As she did so, she found herself meeting his
remote amber gaze. It wasn't the first time she had met his eyes but the small
confrontations didn't get any less disturbing with repetition. That grim watchful
expression aroused her sense of caution at the same time as it fascinated her.
Abby wondered what secrets lay at the bottom of the intelligent amber pools. A
man like this would have a few secrets.
man like this would have a few secrets.
She was getting fanciful, she chided herself angrily. Her own little secret was
probably making her oversensitive to nonexistent secrets in others.
"Thanks," she said. As she turned back to her arrangement, she continued with a
determined chattiness, "I'm sure Mrs. Yamamoto will say the last thing I need is
another daffodil in this thing, but it seems to me it's just crying out for one extra
bit of yellow. What do you think?"
"What you do with flowers looks like you," he said calmly. "And therefore I'm
inclined to give it what you think it needs. By all means, add some more
yellow."
"Very diplomatic," Abby shot back dryly as she eyed her design, wondering
where to position the daffodil. "You know very well Mrs.
Yamamoto is going to shake her head over my creation and then tell the whole
class that you've created another masterpiece!"
He shrugged, not bothering to deny the remark. They both knew it was true.
"Mrs. Yamamoto understands and appreciates discipline and restraint. She's
naturally going to be biased in favor of my arrangements."
Abby's mouth curved wryly. "Meaning I lack those things?"
"Perhaps. I think I envy you."
She glanced up, surprised. "You're serious, aren't you?" She shook her head
quickly as if to negate the question. "Scratch that. Of course you're serious.
You're always serious."
"You seem to understand me rather well," he said ruefully.
"I've been watching you work with flowers for three weeks now," Abby said,
smiling. "I suppose I've learned something about you."
"Really?" He looked genuinely intrigued. "What have you learned?"
Across the busy classroom Mrs. Yamamoto was occupied with other students. It
